


Blood Pact

by Thwipp (Thwipp_Thwipp)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Knotting, Little Bit Of Plot Mostly Porn, M/M, Porn With Plot, Romance, Scenting, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thwipp_Thwipp/pseuds/Thwipp
Summary: HAPPY HALLOWEEN!When called upon to investigate unnatural occurrences plaguing a nearby village, Father Kuroro Lucilfer answers. Expecting a hoax, the bloodthirsty creature lurking in the castle is more than a surprise. But Kuroro has plenty of secrets of his own…For Aprilwinks,My Best Friend.My Soul Mate.You Deserve the World and More.For Now, Here is a Tiny World Made Just for You.
Relationships: Kurapika/Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 132





	Blood Pact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aprilwinks (sleepysauce)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepysauce/gifts).



> A giftfic for my best friend, aprilwinks.   
> You are my bestfriend, I look forward to every new day where I can talk to you, learn more about you, and just be with you. You make me laugh, you make me cry (good tears), and you make me smile.   
> I hope you enjoy this fic.   
> Love thwipp (❁´▽`❁)*✲ﾟ*

The ruin overlooking the valley was set into the mountainside, towering hundreds of metres over the village below. And Father Kuroro Lucilfer had promised to spend the night in its crumbling walls. Indeed, the coin purse at his hip was fat and happy, with the promise of more if he managed to deliver the village below from the clutches of the bloodsucking beast within its walls.

Their letter had been wet with their tears, calling upon him to save them from the misfortune ailing them. They had heard of him from travellers passing through, all singing praises of Father Lucilfer, the great wandering priest who exorcised evil with the very sound of his footfalls. And when they had promised a great reward, what else could he do but answer their call?

Which is how he found himself pushing through the door to the great hall, the wood rotting and damp with decay. According to the villagers, the castle was centuries old, half of it consumed by the passage of time and not to mention a devastating fire two hundred years ago, the shadows of flame still burnt into the brickwork. Somehow, against all odds, the rest of the imposing structure was still standing strong, casting a great shadow across the valley.

Rain thundered overhead, and Kuroro shook off his dripping greatcoat as he trudged through the great hall, tracking water over the moth-bitten carpet. The villagers had warned of the terrible beast within the walls of the castle, though apparently none of them had actually seen it. In fact, all they had to confirm its existence was the continuous blight upon their livestock, whom would often get sick and keel over in the fields, weak from apparent blood loss.

So, either there was simply a plague running amok through the cattle and sheep, or the villagers were correct and there was some sort of overgrown leech sequestered away deep in the castle walls. Kuroro had dealt with the supernatural before, but he could safely say he was expecting a disease to be the root cause of the problem – if the supernatural was involved, it was far more likely that the victims would be one, human, and two, very, very dead, neither of which was true of this particular situation. Still, he had promised the villagers to investigate, and he had a heavy coin purse to motivate him to do so.

Adjusting his rucksack, Kuroro continued to make his way through the castle, ducking through the hundreds of rooms, meandering up the ancient stone steps, and keeping his eyes wide open for anything out of the ordinary.

The church did not much respect the career choices he had made. Exorcising spirits and hunting down supernatural beasts was not exactly respectable, nor did they believe in any of it, simply thinking the general public were getting their heads full of funny things as they were wont to do. In some cases, they church were absolutely correct, this likely being one of them. Other times, however…

Well, Kuroro had seen many strange things over the course of his lifetime.

It was why he could smell a sweet perfume in the air shifting through the rooms from the castle, the movements of a single occupant, a subtle scent that anyone else would have missed completely. It was why he had not aged a day in nearly five hundred years. And, it was why he had taken up this paltry profession in the first place.

After all, where better to hide from the humans than in plain sight?

Inhaling deeply, Kuroro followed the scent keenly, scoping out a path through the labyrinthine structure. The scent was faint, even for his sharp nose, but what he could detect, he liked very much. Very much indeed. And that was strange all on its own.

Scent was his keenest sense. It helped him talk to the humans with ease, detecting their moods and navigating conversations breezily, getting what he wanted when he wanted it. But he had never enjoyed their scents all that much, nor the scents of his own kind. They were scents, that was it. Nothing special.

But this.

This was promising.

Finally, the scent led him to a stop. The room was unlike any other inch of the castle. It was clean, well kempt, the furniture free from dust or debris. There were no cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, nor mould dripping down onto the flagstones. Rather, there was a merry fire burning in the hearth, smoke coiling up the chimney, the smell of burning wood thick in the air, joined by wax from the candles on the desk.

Clearly, someone was home.

And when Kuroro finally laid eyes upon the castle’s single occupant, he froze, his heart lurching up into his throat.

There, reclining upon a red velvet chaise, was a beautiful youth. Golden strands cascaded from his head, stopping just short of his lily-white shoulders, framing his porcelain face, which was as pure as freshly laid snow, nary a mark to be seen. And there, set into his head, were twin rubies, practically burning as red as the fires of Hell. A sheer white nightgown draped over his collarbones, stopping short of his lithe ankles.

Kuroro shifted, his cock twitching with interest under his robes. Whilst he may be a man of the cloth, and had never violated that particular oath, he suddenly realised why it was instituted in the first place. The lust curling down his spine was positively _divine_ , but it was clearly not the work of angels. No man, nor woman, nor any person in fact, had ever stirred him to temptation, so this was something else entirely.

“Are you here to kill me, Father?”

Kuroro’s heart sang as the soft, yet masculine voice washed over him, rooting him to the spot. Yet, as he spoke, there was no mistaking the white pointed teeth. _Vampire._

Where there should have been a shudder of repulsion, a deeply ingrained instinct to defend himself against his natural-born enemy, Kuroro felt only lust coiling deep in his belly, thick and hot.

“The villagers hired me to put a stop to your mischief.” he admitted, setting his rucksack down on the stone floor. Gingerly, he unhooked the clasps and took out a finely carved crucifix, taken from the covenant back home (without permission, but alas, they were not approving of the controversial nature of his career – hah, if only they knew what he really was).

The boy sighed, showing off the pale column of his neck as his head hit the back of the chaise lounge. Eyes half-lidded, Kuroro tracked the movement hungrily. He had never tasted of flesh, had never once been tempted, not for want of opportunity but merely for a lack of interest. But now, seeing this boy writhing on the velvet like a wanton thing, it was like a flame had been lit at the base of his spine, setting his nerves alight with raw, pulsing desire.

The boy looked up; mouth set into a grim line: “Would you?”

“Pardon?”

“If you’re going to kill me, do be quick about it.” The boy said, eyes narrowed and as hard as flint. He shifted on the couch, long legs tucking under himself. “I expect you might have an easier time of it than I. Especially given your… condition.”

At that point he tipped his nose, sniffing the air pointedly. If it was meant to insult him, Kuroro quickly brushed it off. Words were weak when they held no conviction, and it seemed this boy, despite the airs he was putting up, had none towards him.

How curious.

A bloodsucker with a death wish.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

Kuroro held the crucifix aloft, prayers spilling from his lips with expert precision. He had spent many a night memorising the sacred text, committing the words to memory, so as to be able to spout them without a moment’s notice. It came in handy, made it seem all the more real when he cleansed a house or dwelling. Usually, the problem came down to noisy pipes, or bad weather, rather than any actual supernatural activity. But bad weather did not keep the church’s purse fat and happy, so Kuroro played it up (it certainly helped that the more dramatic he made it seem, the more grateful praises and more importantly, coins, seemed to fall in his general direction – and if he should deposit them into his own pocket, well, who was to know?).

The real thing continued to evade him, but by the looks of it, tonight would change that.

To his surprise, the boy sat up, sauntering over until he was toe to toe with Kuroro. A sweet smell wafted upwards, and Kuroro inhaled deeply, enjoying the boy’s musk. A shaky breath left his lips as the perfumed wafted over him. It was like nothing he had ever smelled before. Most bloodsuckers smelled like exactly that: blood and carnage. The villagers smelled like dirt and sweat, like the fields they toiled with so much care. But this boy, this beautiful creature, he smelled like wildflowers trembling in the breeze, the first coat of morning dew sliding off their petals, and like the aged paper of thick tomes, rich with history in both its contents and the spidery notes taken in the margins.

For a long moment, Kuroro simply stared down at the boy. The youth was short, coming up just to his chin, his red eyes blazing as he glared up at him. The night gown was thin, dangerously so, showing off the petite outline of the boy’s body, and if Kuroro leaned forwards he could just see down the lacey neckline plunging down to the boy’s navel, and beyond. Heat coiled in his stomach, and his fingers twitched with the overwhelming need to _touch_.

Whilst he had originally planned to kill a few of the villagers upon his return, blame it upon the beast, and then be on his merry way after “fixing the problem”, he found himself wanting nothing to do with his usual plan at all. The feelings buzzing around his head were entirely foreign, but he wanted to chase them, examine them, exploit them to their full extent until he finally understood.

Blinking slowly, the boy seemed to consider the crucifix in Kuroro’s hand.

Suddenly, white fingers curled around the cross, and Kuroro gave a start. Just like that, the wood splintered, crushed under the boy’s slender fingers, now nothing more than sawdust in the breeze. Kuroro gaped. It wasn’t possible. How? How could he bare to touch it?! It did not make any sense – all of the books he had read, all the countless hours studying, the mere sight of the cross should make such a creature fall to its knees!

Suddenly, that same powerful hand was clasped around his own, and the boy applied pressure, grinding Kuroro’s bones in his grip as easily as crushing an ant beneath his thumb. Kuroro doubled over with a shout, his knees colliding with the unforgiving floor.

“You need to have _faith_ , Father.” The boy said coldly, looking down at Kuroro over the tip of his nose, mouth curled with disgust. “And you have none.”

Kuroro’s stomach dropped, even as his cock rose to attention.

_How did he know?_

In just one look, the boy could see through him like water in the palm of his hand – seeing the cracks and crevices as plain as day. And wasn’t that the rub. That he would make money off people’s faith in the unseen, only to have his own lack of conviction be his undoing. It almost made him want to laugh, but with the boy staring down at him, eyes burning with Hellfire, it was simply not the time.

“You’re no priest.” The boy said venomously, “You’re a conman. How much did you charge those poor villagers?”

Oho. How cute. The bloodsucker was incensed on behalf of the idiotic villagers – the same lot that would have charged upon him with fire and pitchforks if they knew of his existence. Now that was quite the juicy bit of information.

“How long have you been feeding off them?” Kuroro shot back, smirking.

The boy hissed, slapping Kuroro’s hand away viciously. Kuroro bit back a scream as his bones splintered as easily as the wooden cross. He scrambled backwards, clutching his ruined hand and swearing under his breath.

_The little minx_.

“I feed to survive, only enough to survive. _Never_ to kill.” The boy seethed at him, still so astonishingly beautiful, perhaps even more so in the throes of rage. “But I can smell the blood under your fingernails and splattered on the hem of your robes. You’re not just a conman, you’re a filthy beast and a murderer.”

Gritting his teeth at the pain, Kuroro flashed yet another teasing smile in the boy’s direction: “Perhaps, but the villagers don’t seem to appreciate the sentiment, however.”

“And you were quick to take advantage of that.” The boy spat, advancing upon him.

Kuroro’s eyes widened in his head as the boy perched on his stomach, the night gown pooling around him as he straddled his chest. His cock strained against his robes, screaming at him for friction as the nymph on his chest pinned his arms above his head. A desperate groan tore up his throat, even as slender fingers encircled his wrists, pinning him like an insect to a corkboard, and his hips pushed up pathetically into the open air, chasing what the boy was clearly not going to give him.

If he so wanted, he could have pitched the leech off him. They were matched in strength. Natural enemies. Apex predators vying for territory. But somehow, he could not. Seeing the fury blazing in the boy’s angelic face, and smelling the diving perfume wafting from his skin, he knew that he never would.

A curtain of blonde hair cascaded around him as the boy leaned forwards. Kuroro moaned, biting back a gasp as those bowlike lips came into view. _So, so close._ If he were to lean upwards then-

A plush mouth circled his neck, and then sharp pain shot through his jugular, shooting out through all the veins in his body as the boy plunged his teeth into Kuroro’s neck. Kuroro thrashed helplessly, pain surging through his limbs as the boy lapped delicately from his neck, his grip inhumanely strong as he pinned him down to the flagstones. Then the pain began to fade, slowly, and before he even knew what was happening, the walls seemed to loom closer, the edge of his vison blurring with each passing second. And still the boy fed.

It was strange, feeling his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears, even as all the blood in his body was being drained, stolen away by this nymph turned demon. And he smiled, suddenly registering the gentle brush of the boy’s honey locks where his head was bowed against Kuroro’s neck, the softness of his skin where his hands were curled around him, and the intoxicating perfume emanating from his body, the sweet scent of wildflowers and dusty pages in well-loved books.

For the first time in his long, long life, he was at the mercy of another.

If this was how he was to die, perhaps that was not so bad.

Then, the woozy feeling in his head finally overwhelmed him, and his eyes slid shut. He knew no more.

* * *

Kuroro awoke, his head pounding.

He was in his room in the village tavern, recognisable to him if only because he remembered the blindingly ugly lace curtains adorning the window frame. It was not doing wonders for his headache.

As he moved to sit up, he felt a dull ache in his neck. How curious. It was a long time since anyone had injured him to the point where he could feel it presumably hours after the fact. It seemed his rapid healing factor slowed under the touch of a vampire – they were his natural enemy for a reason, it seemed.

“Father! You’re awake!” a shaky voice called.

Kuroro blinked, only to see the tavern owner standing in the doorway, his wrinkled face lined with worry. The vampire must have done a number on him, for someone as innocuous as this old man to successfully sneak up on him. He hadn’t even registered his scent – beer, animal fat, and soap – until just now.

“Please, relax-”

Dark eyebrows knitting together, Kuroro cut him off impatiently: “What happened?”

“We found you outside the village this morning, lying in the middle of the road! Did something happen?”

The last thing he could remember was drifting off in the bloodsucker’s arms, his life being drained from his body. For whatever reason, he had been spared. Hell, he had even been dropped off outside the village. But for what purpose?

_Never to kill._

Realisation struck as the boy’s words rang in his ears. Ah, sentiment.

“You could say that.”

The boy had let him live. Even after that clumsy attempt with the crucifix.

“D-did you see the beast?”

The beast? Now wasn’t that a poor choice of words.

What would they think when the moon shone high in the sky and they saw him for what he really was? On the contrary, if the villagers could behold the vampire for themselves, they would be inclined to sing songs of his radiance, to wax lyrical of his brilliance, and perhaps even carve a shrine in his honour. Kuroro for one was having great difficulty in erasing the memory of a plush mouth, golden locks, and slender limbs from his mind, much less the thought of him poised over red velvet, his head thrown back in ecstasy, white body convulsing under Kuroro’s rough hands-

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

He needed to go back.

“Not quite. I got close though.” Kuroro said, rubbing his jaw. Making up his mind, he pushed the sheets away and stood up; “I will take care of the creature, you’ll see.”

“B-but Father, your wounds-”

Kuroro raised a silencing hand: “An inconvenience, nothing more. Now do as I say.”

* * *

Like the night prior, rain thundered down upon the valley, blanketing the sky with dark storm clouds that blocked out even the soft light from the thin crescent moon and the smattering of stars. Possessing the eyes and ears of wolf meant Kuroro simply trudged up the mountain path with as much ease as if it were the middle of the day and the sun were shining high in the sky. The rain soaked through his overcoat, chilling him to the bone, yet he kept pushing forwards, mud flying up and spattering his legs.

His mind was on other things.

Tonight, he had left his rucksack behind, sitting on his bed back at the tavern. There was no need for such tools, not tonight.

Once again, he sniffed his way through the maze-like structure, tailing after the boy’s tell-tale aroma. Before long, he found himself back in the boy’s room. Just like yesterday, it was clean, the fire was going strong, licking the chimney with flames, and there were candles burning on the desk.

And just as before, the boy was perched on the couch, this time with a book in his lap. He blinked owlishly as he saw Kuroro standing in the doorway, looking every bit the wolf he was, head to toe covered in water and mud, his chest heaving from the hike.

“Why have you come back?” the boy asked, frowning ever so slightly as he set his book down; “Are you here to try and kill me again?”

“Do you want me to?”

Strangely enough the boy had left Kuroro’s kit beside his body, as if to dare him to try again. Or perhaps he had been trying to convey an entirely different message.

The boy shrugged, “Not really. But do your worst.”

“I’m not here for that.” Kuroro admitted, closing the door behind him and stepping across the threshold. “But you wanted me to come back, didn’t you?”

The boy stiffened, “What makes you say that?”

“You returned my belongings to me.”

“That was so you would _not_ return.”

Kuroro shook his head, laughing, as he crossed the space between them. Gingerly, he sat on the couch beside the boy, keeping his movements slow so as not to scare him off. His nostrils flared as the boy’s perfume washed over him, and somehow he managed to keep his hands down at his sides.

Kuroro smirked, “Mmm, on the contrary, I think you wanted to confuse me, or simply to give me another chance to kill you. Some of the items in that bag are deadly, even to you. But you already knew that.”

The boy stuck his nose in the air, shifting slightly away from Kuroro: “Think what you wish.”

Kuroro was not discouraged in the least, he leaned forward, practically forcing the boy to acknowledge him: “Give me your name.”

“Why should I?”

“It is polite.”

The boy quirked an eyebrow: “Oh, then why have you not given me yours?”

Kuroro smiled, “How right you are, it seems I’ve quite forgotten my manners. I am Father Kuroro Lucilfer.”

The boy hesitated but replied: “Kurapika.”

_Kurapika._ What a beautiful name. It rolled off the tongue as easily as honey dripping from his lips.

“No family name?”

“I have long since forgotten it, if I ever possessed such a thing.”

For a moment, he sounded so sad that Kuroro was taken aback. Eternity was not kind to them all, and sometimes the mind forgot that which it held most dear. Maybe Kurapika had a family once, parents, siblings, or friends, a home to return to. But Kuroro could only smell one scent in the walls of this castle. Whatever had become of his family, Kurapika now walked alone.

“You’re a lycan.” Kurapika said idly, nose wrinkling, as if he could smell the scent of wolf on his skin. No doubt, he probably could. Lycans were not known for their subtle aromas.

“Does that bother you?”

He wondered what Kurapika could smell on him, what sort of tell-tale signs he could weave together just from one sniff. Most of his kind smelled like blood, sweat, or fur.

Kurapika shrugged, “No, not particularly. I’ve never encountered your kind before.”

Now that was curious. Of course, immortals were rare, hiding themselves away for their own protection – but they had always been good at sniffing each other out. Kuroro had stumbled across many lycans over the course of his long life. Perhaps Kurapika was too young to have found anyone else yet.

“How old are you?”

“Old enough, but I don’t leave unless I have to. It’s safer that way.”

What a waste, for such a bright light to languish in these damp decaying halls.

“Do you trust yourself so little?”

To that, Kurapika did not answer, curling up on the couch and hugging his knees to his chest. A sore point. It explained why he hid himself away in this crumbling ruin, leaving only to feed upon the livestock of the village below, not even having the heart to kill even those dull beasts. Kurapika’s heartbeat may be slow, dulled by his vampirism, but Kuroro could tell it was a gentle sound, far too soft for the creature he had been turned into.

Kurapika frowned, “Why is a lycan masquerading as a priest?”

“It might surprise you to know I was a priest first.” Kuroro said, allowing the change of subject for now. He needed to convince this boy, and that required a little give and take.

“Really?”

“Mmm, quite. Only, I went in search of things better left alone. Where faith should have saved me, I was already lost, for I had none, as you so aptly pointed out yesterday evening.”

“You’re a false priest.”

“Yes, I joined the church for the power and status, the money, and the access to knowledge it would grant me. For my greed, I was cursed with the blood of a wolf. Now the moon lords over me, age does not wear me down, and I hunger for flesh, just as you do.”

It made him laugh. Here, he had been struck down for his greed, but now, his avarice would endure for ever.

“You kill people.”

“Yes.” Kuroro admitted, placing his hand on Kurapika’s thigh, shivering at the feeling of supple flesh through the thin fabric of his nightgown. To his delight, Kurapika did not recoil. “I kill people. They call me out, and I play the tune they want to hear, horror stories of vampires feeding off their people, werewolves snatching their babies, demons possessing them. And then I assuage their fears. I fix the problem. And if I happen to feed a little, well, they simply blame it on their own imaginary beasts.”

“That’s horrible.”

“It’s survival, plain and simple.” Kuroro replied simply, fingers stroking mischievous patterns against Kurapika’s skin. The boy shivered under his touch, and Kuroro bit back a lascivious smile.

“I could not live so horribly.”

“Is this not a cage?”

“Yes, but at least no one is getting hurt.”

Kuroro scowled, “Only you.”

Sighing deeply, he got off the couch and knelt on the ground between Kurapika’s legs. He took Kurapika’s hands in his own, clutching them tightly, making the boy flinch. He looked up at him, imploringly.

“I have never truly believed in anything nor anyone, until the moment I first beheld you.” Kuroro said, tangling their fingers together, basking in the softness of Kurapika’s skin. Then he lifted a slight hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips reverently against Kurapika’s knuckles, enjoying the resulting shiver from the boy in front of him. “So please, allow me to stay by your side. I would not be parted from you.”

Kurapika’s face fell, confusion abound: “Why would you ever wish such a thing, to be joined with a twisted creature such as I? All I know is endless night and the taste of blood on my lips. Why would you want for such things?”

“Because I am the same. You know well enough that I have tasted blood and enjoyed it. You tasted it when you fed upon me, did you not? And what is an endless night to one who already has endless days? Besides, I would weather any storm, if it meant you were beside me.” Kuroro replied, kissing Kurapika’s hands fervently; “What is a bit of rain, if I can behold your smile every day?”

There was a moment’s pause, where the boy seemed to consider this proclamation, his hands tightening in Kuroro’s grip. Then he bit his lip, his eyes averting to the floor and whispered: “I can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

Kurapika’s voice was a whisper, strained and painful: “This hunger festering inside me, it’s so terrible. If I leave, how will I control myself?”

To Kuroro’s surprise, his anger flared. How could Kurapika deny himself anything?

“Why should you? Why should you control yourself? There is nothing wrong with us, with me, or with you. God looked upon us and struck us down, and yet here we are still, a blight upon all in our way. I say spite them!”

Kurapika shook his head, “I will not toss away the lives of others for my own.”

Oh, how could he be so blind?

Biting back a snarl, Kuroro grit his teeth: “They do not deserve your compassion. What are they, but mayflies, here one day and gone the next? And even in their course of their woefully short lives, they manage to do all kinds of damage. Blood may stain my hands, but I kill to eat. They kill for pleasure, for fun, just because.”

“Perhaps, but that does not make it right.”

Ah, his love was a martyr, a keeper of the peace. How unfair that a soul so pure should be cursed like someone such as himself. The universe worked in wicked ways.

In any case, Kuroro had never denied himself anything. And it was time for Kurapika to start doing the same.

“No? Well, no matter. Allow me to keep you in check then, lean on me, abuse my services, just use me, I beg you. Let me travel by your side and show you the wide world. If you do not wish to sate your hunger, I will help you quell it by other means. But please, do not let yourself while away your eternity in these forsaken walls.” Kuroro said, kneeling on the floor, clutching at Kurapika’s nightgown, pleading, pressing his mouth against the fabric, raining fervent kisses upon him. The boy was young, even in the throes of eternal life, and he could be convinced. He just needed to know his own worth.

Kurapika’s voice shook, “Why do you care? I am but a stranger to you.”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t felt it.” Kuroro said, standing up to his full height, fingers clasping around Kurapika’s chin. “The _pull_ between us. It took me a while to realise it for what it was. I may be a wolf, but it is nothing I have experienced before.”

Kurapika’s cheeks pinkened, but he did not answer.

“You are made for me.” Kuroro continued, stroking Kurapika’s cheek, soft as peach skin under his fingertips. “I imprinted on you the moment I first laid eyes on you. A wolf loves only once.”

In all his travels, he had only encountered a few others like himself. Immortals tended to hide, shrouding themselves to avoid the ire of the humans, either by hiding in plain sight, like Kuroro chose to, or shying away from them entirely, like Kurapika. And in his research and encounters he had seen the strong bond of a wolf and their mate.

“How-”

“You are mine, and I am yours. That’s all there is to it.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

Kuroro knew there was no chance of that. He had never felt this before, and never would again with anyone else. But perhaps Kurapika did not appreciate such absolutes, not yet, at least. He would come to love him. It was inevitable.

Whispering softly, Kuroro stroked the boy’s hair, feeling it slip through his fingers like spun gold: “The affection beating in my chest is there. Whatever it means, I intend to find out. I know you feel something too – the sluggish pulse of your heart has increased, and your scent has sweetened; your feelings have awoken something in you. Let us explore it together.”

It was only a matter of time.

Romance bloomed in this boy. It was clear as night and day, the atlas wide open on the desk, the globe with fresh handprints in the corner, and the hundreds of books spilling out of the shelves, piled high on the floor in teetering columns, stuffed silly with pages upon pages of the wide world, the sights to be seen, the things to do. He wanted to leave. Yet he would not let himself, for the love of the paltry humans, he would lock himself away – a treasure that deserved to be worshipped and exalted, left to gather dust.

And Kuroro could not allow that to happen.

If it was the last thing he did, he would make sure to drag Kurapika from this castle – willingly or not. Oh, how he longed to drape the boy in the finest silks, adorn him with necklaces dripping with jewels, place thick golden rings on his lily-white fingers, and see all the sights the world had to offer through his bright eyes, drinking in his wonder and excitement. They would consider the nature of their own strange existence, seeking out others of their kind, finding answers, better ways to survive and to live. Together.

“Come with me, my love.”

Wordlessly, Kurapika nodded. Then he slipped his lithe hand in Kuroro’s, deceptively light weight.

Kuroro grinned, happiness flooding his system. It felt like the sun was coursing through his veins. Unable to hold back any longer, he leaned in, hands cupping Kurapika’s face, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. The boy made a quiet noise of surprise, but his eyes slid shut, and sure enough, he melted into the kiss, his soft hands curling around Kuroro’s collarbones, simply holding on. To his delight, the boy’s lips were soft, light as petals and trembling beneath his mouth. His very kiss was basked in innocence, in hesitance, as if he were afraid of himself.

Now, Kuroro was having none of that.

Smirking, Kuroro forcefully pushed his tongue into Kurapika’s mouth, making the boy jump at the sudden contact, his fingers tightening around Kuroro’s shoulders. He sucked wetly at Kurapika’s tongue, lavishing him with attention, growling as Kurapika bowed under his weight with a gasp, his knees practically giving out as Kuroro worshipped him with his tongue.

A loud ripping noise tore through the room as Kuroro shredded the night gown easily with his claws, tearing it to shreds. For a moment, he simply stared, letting his eyes rake over his mate, dedicating each inch of his pale skin to memory. Kurapika was petite, his torso and limbs slender, but there was a clear strength to him too, muscle rippling under his skin, clear in the arch of his back and grace in his poise. And the look he was giving him – good lord. Peeking up at him from under golden eyelashes, a fine dusting of pink across his nose, his sharp canines biting at his lip nervously. He looked positively ethereal.

It was too much. Kuroro fell upon him, their mouths colliding violently. Metal erupted on his tongue as he nicked himself on Kurapika’s fangs. At that, Kurapika’s eyes flung open, and he moaned into the kiss, his pupils dilating as the blood washed over his tastebuds. He threw his arms around Kuroro’s neck, and Kuroro groaned as he felt Kurapika’s naked body press up against him.

Suddenly, Kurapika pulled away, crimson eyes wide with hunger, still licking his lips to chase the excess blood: “N-no. I _can’t._ What if I don’t stop?”

Leaning in close, until their foreheads pressed together, Kuroro whispered: “Trust me.”

“How can I?”

Kuroro stroked his cheek, gaze hot: “You won’t hurt me. You’re stronger than that. You let me go before, didn’t you? You stopped yourself. So, trust me.”

Then with a flick of his wrist, he tore open his throat, and pulled Kurapika in close, pressing his face against his neck. In his arms, Kurapika’s body went still. But Kuroro waited. Slowly, gently, Kurapika leaned in, arms curling around to clutch at his back. There was the wet slide of a tongue as Kurapika gave him a tentative taste. A low purr filled the room as Kurapika drank his fill, gaining more confidence by the second. Pain and pleasure, white hot and sluggish surged through Kuroro’s veins as Kurapika fed. But he did not waver.

“You taste good.” Kurapika said, mouth ruby red and dripping, when he finally pulled back. His eyes were glazed over, his pupils blown wide, and to Kuroro’s delight, his pretty cock was beginning to swell between his legs, clearly taking an interest in their activities.

“What did I tell you?” Kuroro said, eyes raking over him; “You are stronger than you think.”

“Thank you.” Kurapika whispered, blushing as Kuroro stared at him unabashedly.

It was too much.

_“My turn.”_

That was Kurapika’s only warning as Kuroro hoisted Kurapika into his arms with a growl, before smashing their mouths together, his cock twitching as he tasted his own blood on Kurapika’s tongue.

They fell back gently against the furs, Kuroro laying Kurapika down and being careful not to drop him. With their mouths still stubbornly connected, Kuroro discarded his priest’s robe, tossing it across the room without a care in the world. Fumbling around in his pants pocket, he took out a small glass vial, filled with honey-scented oil, before discarding his pants as well.

The minute he had stepped out of the tavern that afternoon, he had made sure to bring it with him. One way or another, he was going to have Kurapika.

To his endless delight, Kurapika seemed to be very much in favour of that plan, crimson eyes blazing with lust, half-lidded as Kuroro loomed over him, golden hair splayed out on the furs beneath his head. His scent had magnified, billowing with desire, scenting the air like a perfumed candle, and Kuroro sighed as he inhaled his sweet air.

Already painfully hard, Kuroro snatched the dropper off the vial and tossed it aside in favour of pouring the oil recklessly into his hands. It gathered thickly on his fingers, dripping like nectar and squelching as he fisted his cock, hanging heavily between his legs. He bit back a gasp, clutching himself tightly, watching the sight spread out before him, Kurapika laying on his back, sitting up on his elbows, eyes red-hot, his pretty cock standing tall against his pale stomach, and his slender legs spread wide to accommodate him. 

Then Kurapika pitched forwards, plucking the vial from Kuroro’s fingers, and pouring the left-over oil onto his own hand. Mouth falling open, Kuroro watched with wide eyes as Kurapika proceeded to stretch himself open, his lithe fingers fucking in and out of his twitching hole, leaking oil all over his thighs and ass. As his fingers plunged inside his body, his scent intensified, like waves crashing over the shoreline, building and cascading, sending thick plumes of wildflowers and honey spiralling into the air.

Somehow, Kuroro managed to simply sit back and watch. His fingers curled at his knees, white-knuckled as he restrained himself, sweat dripping down his brow as he watched the display Kurapika was putting on for him.

Minute gasps filled the silence, along with the jarring _squelch_ as Kurapika’s fingers fucked into his own body, in and out. Kuroro growled, deep in his chest, seeing the slick oil spilling from Kurapika’s fingers, the glazed look in his eyes, and the sweat pooling on his porcelain skin. Oh, how he wanted to touch, to worship the boy laid out in front of him.

Then Kurapika’s eyelashes fluttered and he whispered lowly: _“Please, Kuroro,”_

And that was all the invitation he needed.

Kuroro scrambled forwards, pushing Kurapika’s legs apart, hooking one slender foot over his shoulder, before driving home, pushing his cock into that pulsing wet heat. A strangled moan tore from his lips, feeling his cock wreathed in Kurapika’s heat, so hot and tight around him. Beneath him, Kurapika yelped, arms curling around Kuroro’s broad shoulders, clinging on as Kuroro drove into him. Then, he began to move, undulating his hips in swift, furious movements, driving into Kurapika’s lithe body.

They fucked furiously against the fur, feeling the fire licking at their skin meshing with the cool air streaming in through the window – the rain still battering against the window from the storm outside. They both moaned as Kuroro finally found the right angle, his cockhead ramming against Kurapika’s prostate, making him shudder in Kuroro’s arms.

Kurapika threw his head back and moaned lowly, his nails, inhumanely sharp and elongated, clawed down Kuroro’s back, tearing his flesh asunder, sending warm trails of blood trickling from his shoulder blades, all the way down to the back of his thighs. Kuroro grunted at the pain, revelling in the raw strength of his mate. He mouthed wetly at Kurapika’s neck, his dripping jaws leaving vicious red bites all down the white expanse. Unlike the weapons of humans, the bites did not fade instantly, but instead continued to bleed – stark evidence of their lovemaking left behind for them both to admire afterwards.

Similarly, the open flesh on Kuroro’s back stung, exposed to the fresh air, knitting back together far more slowly than normal. He groaned as Kurapika’s nail scraped through his flesh once more, this time on his lower back, clutching at his hips with obscene strength.

_“You’re so beautiful, my lovely suckling, all for my own.”_ Kuroro moaned, laving over Krapika’s neck with his tongue, feeling the old indents of Kurapika’s original bitemark. A surge of jealousy wracked through him, the thought that someone else had touched his mate, had dared to bite into his neck was unacceptable.

“P-please,” Kurapika moaned, _“Faster.”_

There came a rumbling deep in his chest as he growled, hips thrusting faster. Then in one swift movement, he hoisted Kurapika up off the furs, keeping a hold of him with just one hand splayed possessively over his back, fucking him in mid-air. Kurapika’s golden head toppled back, honey strands just brushing the fur rug as he held on for dear life, his arms curling around Kuroro’s neck and his thighs tight around Kuroro’s sharp hips, as Kuroro pounded into him with reckless abandon. A guttural moan loosed from his throat, and then his fingers fisted in Kuroro’s hair, clutching at his black strands, silky as a raven’s wings carding through his fingertips.

The fire roared in the hearth, sending waves of heat crashing over them, but with little need, given the sweat dripping from their bodies and the white-hot sensation pulsing in their veins. Kuroro gasped, chanting Kurapika’s name, lips moving against his skin.

When he came, he bit Kurapika’s neck, marking him for his own. Come spurted out, white-hot and scorching, and his limbs shook. He clutched Kurapika tightly, feeling their sweat-slicked skin sliding together and basking in their flowering scents. Load after load of come continued to spill from his body, leaking out from where he and Kurapika were joined, filling up Kurapika’s flat belly.

“Beautiful, so, so, beautiful,” Kuroro murmured, licking the wound on Kurapika’s neck, the rich flavour of his blood erupting on his tongue. He had bitten him right over the old mark, destroying it and with it any trace of the vampire that had originally touched Kurapika so shamelessly. The new mark would last forever, the outline of his jaws marring the perfect column of Kurapika’s neck – a wound that would not heal, not even with Kurapika’s healing factor. It was the mark of a wolf’s mate. A mark to be borne with pride.

A shiver of pleasure ran down his spine as his cock began to stir, swelling deep inside Kurapika’s tight heat. Ever since being cursed with lycanthropy, he had suffered through his ruts alone, preferring to curl up in a dark room, fisting his cock until he came, only to nurse his swollen knot, rubbing furiously against the filthy bedsheets. It had suited him and his solitary lifestyle, to simply treat his ruts like the inconvenience it was.

But now. Now it was something else entirely. Feeling his knot swell, massaging Kurapika’s walls, linking them so tightly together that the slightest move sent indescribable waves of pleasure rocketing through his bones. He could feel the hitch in Kurapika’s breath as they moved together, simply laying in a sweaty tangle of limbs on the fur rug, and the furious pounding of his heart as they both came down from their highs. Come still dripped from Kurapika’s hole, spilling down Kuroro’s thighs. When he looked, he could see where Kurapika was filled with him, stuffed to the brim and positively leaking. Idly he traced a hand over Kurapika’s belly. When he pushed down, Kurapika keened softly, more come spilling out of his body, wetting Kuroro in the process. His mouth went quite dry, reverently stroking Kurapika’s stomach, imagining it not flat and muscled as it was in that moment, but heavy with Kuroro’s seed, swelling to accommodate the weight of their pups. Instinctively, his knot twitched with excitement at the prospect. Licking his lips, Kuroro leaned down and kissed Kurapika, keeping his thoughts private for now.

Kurapika shifted, only to wince in pain.

“Shhhh, don’t move.” Kuroro murmured, pressing soft kisses to his damp forehead. “It’ll go down on its own.”

Knotting was a new experience entirely, one Kuroro found immensely enjoyable, if only because he could cuddle Kurapika, the both still linked intimately, their bodies pressed impossibly close together, feeling the beats of their hearts synchronise, and their scents mingling into one. Overtime, their scents would become indistinguishable from each other, one in the same.

“You’re lucky I’m comfortable, wolf.” Kurapika groaned, his icy fingers tracing circles around Kuroro’s shoulder blades, seemingly content to lie back with Kuroro inside him. Breathy gasps pealed from his throat every so often, every time Kuroro shifted and his knot pressed up against his prostrate, pleasuring him over and over. 

As Kuroro moved ever so slightly, Kurapika threw his head back and moaned, overstimulated.

Brain fizzling out, Kuroro leaned forwards and captured his lips, kissing him softly. Kurapika smiled into the kiss, lips moving slowly against his own. They kissed lazily, enjoying the heat of the fire, the sweat cooling on their skin, and being linked, their limbs tangled. With reverent hands, Kuroro traced over every inch of Kurapika’s skin, feeling every imperfection, memorising the slope of his legs, the sharpness of his bones, and the expanse of his chest.

When his knot finally deflated, Kuroro regretfully pulled out, only to collapse on the fur beside Kurapika. He drew him up to his chest, still hesitant to part ways. Luckily, Kurapika did not seem to mind in the least, looping his arms around Kuroro and nuzzling against his chest sleepily.

For now, they could relax and simply bask in each other’s presence.

Tomorrow, Kuroro would help Kurapika gather his things together, and perhaps sleep a little, and then when night fall came, he would finally whisk them away, far from this infernal castle, the pathetic village below, and on to greater things. He could not wait to see the world through Kurapika’s eyes, to see him alight with wonder at the sights to be seen. He would show him everything, they would share everything. Forever.

Tracing the mark on his mate’s neck, Kuroro kissed him softly one last time, before they both fell asleep, lulled by the sound of their heartbeats pulsing together.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> mmm 7k of vampire kurapika and werewolf kuroro just going at it??   
> didn't know you wanted THAT did you?   
> yet here you are.   
> hope you enjoyed it, you gremlin. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> (love from a fellow a gremlin)


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